


fruit of the devil

by theprodigypenguin



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, DeuAce Drabbles, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mini fics, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Shirohige Kaizoku-dan | Whitebeard Pirates, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, non consensual drug use, tags will be updated accordingly as i add one shots, trigger warning, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprodigypenguin/pseuds/theprodigypenguin
Summary: A collection of one shots and drabbles inspired by the One Piece universe, written based on prompts received on Tumblr~ drabbles will likely consist of DeuAce unless otherwise stated.If curious, or you want to send in your own prompt, you can find me on Tumblr at the same name "theprodigypenguin"
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Nap [deuce/ace]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ➥ nap  
> Words: 1,737  
> Rated: General  
> Notes/Warning: established relationship

“They still in there?”

The question tore Ace from his deep, dissociated train of thought, making him jerk from his position perched on top of a wooden crate with his eyes locked intensely at the door to the infirmary. He forced his eyes away from the door to acknowledge Thatch, who was standing with a plate of food in one hand, the other stuffed into his pocket. Ace eyed the steaming meat for an instant before looking back at the door, arms folded atop of his knees.

“Uh-huh.”

“Sheesh, it’s been what, twenty hours?” Thatch set the food beside Ace and leaned off on one leg, folding his arms. “Must’ve been worse than what we thought.” Thatch looked between Ace and the food. “You should eat something.”

“Later,” Ace said quickly, hands gripping his elbows and a frown weighing his lips. “I’m not hungry right now.”

“Ah come on, we both know that’s a lie.”

“I’ll eat when Deuce eats,” Ace decided, though he did cast a longing look to the meal Thatch had meticulously prepared just for him.

He felt too anxious to eat, even if he was hungry. He couldn’t stop thinking about the medical situation going down behind the infirmary door.

Twenty hours ago Marco had roused the couple from their sleep in the middle of the night, banging a fist against the door until someone opened it. He’d rushed out a frantic explanation that the thirteenth division had returned from their mission with near fatal injuries, and that they needed every medical staff available to help. Deuce had practically fallen into his clothes before stumbling after Marco, still half asleep and rubbing the sand from his eyes, telling Ace to go back to sleep — that he’d be back soon.

Ace hadn’t really been expecting his partner back that night, but soon ended up being almost a full day. It was getting dark out, most of the crew had retired to their quarters unless they were one watch.

Deuce had been in the OR with Marco for hours. He’d been working with barely any sleep, probably no breaks and certainly no food. Ace had stubbornly chosen to fast in solidarity, at least until the infirmary doors opened and Deuce was released from his duties, but it felt like a losing battle.

The aroma of Thatch’s excellent cooking was tempting, so Ace buried his mouth and nose against his forearms to block out the smell, sending a frustrated glare in the head chef’s direction. Thatch caught his eye and unfolded his arms, placing his hands on his hips and returning the glare.

“Deuce won’t be very pleased if he finds out you’re starving yourself just because you’re worried about him.”

“I’m not starving myself. I missed one meal at best!”

“You missed three. Plus all your usual snacks — and by snacks I mean all those times you sneak into the kitchen to steal food when I’m otherwise occupied and can’t catch you.”

Ace lifted his head in alarm. “I missed three meals?” He turned his head down to look at the food, his stomach making a noise that almost sounded sad. “I guess a little wouldn’t hurt…”

“You better clean the plate; and don’t worry about Deuce and the others. I’ve already got the kitchen working on their next meal. Something to help them regain their energy after going nonstop like this.”

Ace didn’t answer as he put all his focus into eating. The plate was half cleared when the door to the infirmary opened. Ace choked on his mouthful in his haste to get to his feet, shoving the plate into Thatch’s hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he eagerly watched Whitebeard’s medical staff shuffle onto the deck.

They all looked exhausted, which Ace had been expecting, but he didn’t spend too much time worrying about them as he swayed side to side on his feet, searching for Deuce. The blue haired doctor was the last to exit the infirmary. Marco walked at his side, a hand on his back to help him walk, and Ace could see why. Deuce looked worse off than the rest of them did. Ace could see the shadows beneath his eyes even with the mask on. Deuce’s eyes looked glassy and unfocused, his shoulders were slumped, and he couldn’t seem to lift his feet from the floor. He was swaying dangerously from side to side, probably only staying upright thanks to Marco’s assistance.

Ace was moving almost instantly, half jogging to meet the duo. He had one hand raised towards Deuce, wanting to pull the other man into his arms, but held back as he looked to Marco for some clarity over the situation. “Hey, are you done? Is everything okay? How are Atmos and the others?”

“Yeah, we’re done finally,” Marco answered, stopping Deuce with a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone’s okay. We almost lost one or two, but managed to keep them on this side of existence for the time being. Do me a favor and get this one back to bed. He’s been on his feet the entire time. Make sure he gets some well earned rest.”

Marco nudged Deuce forward. The younger doctor shuffled in the direction he was led, but the fog in his eyes showed he didn’t know where he was going or recognize where he was. He bumped against Ace, face dropping onto his shoulder, and Ace lifted his arms around him in an embrace.

“Right.” Ace lifted a hand to cradle the back of Deuce’s head, stroking fingers through pale blue hair. “I’ll take care of him. You should lie down too, Marco. You’ve all been up for a while. I think right now is the perfect time for a nap.”

“It’s night,” Thatch commented. “This would be considered bedtime, not naptime.”

“Either way we should all be unconscious right now,” Ace decided, tightening his hold around Deuce and stepping backwards. “Come on, Deu. Let’s get you to bed.”   


Deuce seemed to be just aware enough to sort of walk on his own, though he was leaning heavily against Ace the entire time with his face buried into his partner’s neck. Ace kept an arm locked around the middle of Deuce’s back to keep him upright, leading him across the deck towards their room and murmuring the entire way there.

“You did great, I am  _ so  _ proud of you. We’re going to sleep in tomorrow, just the two of us. I mean I haven’t done anything to deserve it, you’re the one who was working and saving lives, but I’m going to sleep in too because that way we can cuddle.”

Deuce murmured something inarticulate that Ace didn’t bother trying to translate. He kicked open the door to their room and carefully led Deuce inside before swinging the door shut with his heel. He didn’t want to let go of Deuce, worried that he was so exhausted he’d simply collapse if the support disappeared, so Ace kept one arm around him the entire time. It wasn’t easy to maneuver Deuce out of his jacket — stripping a deadweight man with one hand was one of Ace’s lesser developed skills — but Ace eventually had Deuce out of his heavy clothing and on the bed.

Deuce seemed to have fallen asleep before his head was even on the pillow, body curled towards Ace’s side of the bed and one hand twisted in the sheets there. Ace was quick to shuck off his boots and shorts so he could lie down beside his lover, lifting Deuce’s arm just enough to wiggle beneath it so he could hold Ace instead of the mattress.

“There you go,” Ace wound his arms around Deuce, hauling him closer and pulling away the mask with gentle fingers — he caressed Deuce’s cheek with his thumb before setting the mask on the desk beside the bed, then turned back to Deuce and pulled him closer. “All cozy now.”

Deuce made a noise as if he was responding to Ace, who tensed up momentarily as the other man shifted under the blankets. Deuce dragged a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. Ace felt his shoulders freeze under his hands as Deuce pressed his palm to his eyes with a soft gasp.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Ace soothed. “I took your mask off.”

Deuce relaxed, sighing and dropping his hand. “Ace…”

“I thought you were completely out, did I wake you up?”

Deuce shook his head. “Sorry. It was probably annoying having to get me to bed.”

“Nah, nothing annoying about it. I love stripping you!”

Deuce must have still been half asleep, because Ace knew that comment would have gotten a reaction if he’d been fully conscious. Instead Deuce hummed, relaxing completely against Ace.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Marco said so.” Ace stroked Deuce’s shoulder with his fingertips. “You did a great job.”

Deuce’s voice dropped to a softer octave. “I was scared… during it. Even though I’m a doctor and I should be used to it. A few of them flatlined during surgery and… I nearly started crying a few times.”

Ace was frowning at the ceiling as Deuce talked, knowing he would probably never confess to feeling vulnerable in any other situation. Ace knew his partner was still less than confident in his abilities as a healer.

In Deuce’s eyes, he was still a drop out medical student — nothing more. Where healing was involved, Deuce always thought he could be doing more, or doing better, and the only reason he couldn’t was because he dropped out of school before learning the necessary skills.

Ace thought that was bullshit, but he couldn’t tell Deuce to stop feeling worthless. All he could do was support Deuce and stay optimistic in the hopes that one day Deuce would see just how invaluable and irreplaceable he was.

“Yeah, but guess what? Marco said everyone survived, and you’re part of the reason that was possible. You helped save our friend’s lives. I couldn’t have done that. I don’t even know how to give someone an IV.”

Deuce hummed again, already sleeping again, and Ace laughed softly. He turned his head to press a kiss to Deuce’s hairline, then pressed his cheek against his lover’s forehead and shut his eyes.

“You’re so much more amazing than you think. I wish you could see what I see.”


	2. Bath [deuce/ace]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‡ bath  
> Words: 637  
> Rating: General  
> Notes/Warnings: Character Study

Ever since eating the Mera Mera fruit and losing his ability to swim, Ace had developed a rather severe aversion to water. It wasn’t even as simple as not liking to fall into the ocean or any other natural body of water. Being a pirate meant that sometimes you fell overboard, and Ace didn’t mind that much. It sucked beyond belief, but he had hundreds of crewmates capable of diving in to haul him out before he sank too deep.

No, what Ace hated the most about his weakness was having to take baths. He avoided it at all costs, grateful for the shower rooms on Whitebeard’s ship and fully utilizing them when he did need to bathe. There were dozens upon dozens of Devil Fruit users on the crew after all, it made sense that the shipwrights would figure out a way to filter water in such a way that those crewmates wouldn’t have to submerge themselves just to clean off.

Being submerged in water like that weakened Ace, and he never felt more vulnerable than when he was taking a bath. He could fight off marines and rival pirate crews, get shot at without gaining a scratch and get thrown around by Whitebeard, and he would still prefer all of it above having to strip down and sink into water that bled him of his strength.

Anyone could do anything to him when he was like that, because he wouldn’t be able to fight back, and he hated that. He hated being too weak to defend himself or protect his people. He hated being so vulnerable that he actually felt helpless and scared, and he hated that a warm bath is what did that to him. Something that used to be comforting and peaceful was now something he dreaded.

Yet on the other side of that same coin, taking a bath wasn’t all that horrible when Deuce was with him. It had become a sort of ritual for them, one that Deuce usually instigated. Whenever Ace was stressed out or thinking too much, whenever he wasn’t feeling like himself, Deuce would pull him aside and comment that he needed to take a bath and calm down. It came out harsh sometimes, but it was the only way to get Ace to listen and agree. When he was in a self destructive mood, gentle words didn’t register, so Deuce would have to man handle the idiot into some self care.

Ace didn’t mind sharing a bath with Deuce. He didn’t mind sinking into warm water and feeling the strength drain from his body, because Deuce was there to catch him and lean against the back of the tub with Ace cradled to his chest. Deuce kept Ace from sinking beneath the water, arms wrapped around his waist and chin against his shoulder. He didn’t at all hate the locked door and the way steam fogged up every mirror and porthole window as they rocked with the waves and soaked away their stress.

Ace felt safe with Deuce — he felt protected — and that probably meant as much to Deuce as it did to Ace. It meant everything. To be open, vulnerable and emotionally intimate with another person. To give himself to someone and be treasured so completely rather than treated with contempt and cruelty like Ace had come to expect from everyone who discovered who he was; what his birthright was.

This was something he never thought he’d have — something he never thought he deserved; but he had it, he had Deuce, and liked to imagine that he was better for it.

“It’s nice to be trusted,” Deuce would say, and Ace would shut his eyes against the steam filled room, listing his head back against Deuce’s shoulder.

“It’s nice being able to trust.”


	3. Never Take Drinks From A Gold-Toothed Bar-Creep [deuce/ace]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ✿ feeling so out of it, they need constant attention  
> Words: 6,229  
> Rating: Explicit/Mature  
> Notes/Warning: pre-relationship, non consensual drug use, hinted sexual harassment, violent assault/strangulation, attempted murder, blood, trigger warning, drug use

“Here’s your drink, hun.”

Deuce lifted his head from the journal he’d been scribbling notes in, offering the barmaid a smile as she left a glass of lemonade on the counter in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Still waiting on your friends, sweetheart?”

“They’ll be here soon,” Deuce said, leaning back and glancing at the empty stools beside him. “They had some work to do in town but asked me to save them seats.”

The older woman offered him a polite smile as she started to walk back down the bar towards another patron. “Well let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

“Sure.” Deuce pulled the glass closer, looking back at his journal and tapping his pen against the counter as he read over what he’d already written.

Having a night out inland like this had become a rare treat since joining the Whitebeard pirates. They were almost always sailing, and even when they were docked Deuce found himself busy in the infirmary for one reason or another. Having days off was something he was learning to treasure, and having days off when they were docked at one of their territory islands was even more of a treat.

He wasn’t one to enjoy spending time at bars — for one thing he wasn’t a heavy drinker, and while he was happy to indulge when he was on the ship, being in a public place with strangers made him err on the side of caution where his intuition was involved. Deuce was a notable lightweight when it came to alcohol, and the last thing he wanted was to be black out drunk when he wasn’t in the safety of his own crew. He certainly didn’t want to drink when he was alone at the bar, still waiting after an hour for Ace and Thatch to show up.

Whitebeard had sent them off to deal with some mess on the far side of the island (that being the reason they’d stopped here in the first place) but earlier that morning Ace had chosen a spot to meet up with Deuce once they’d finished. Deuce had gotten there at the exact time they’d planned, but naturally Ace was going to be a little bit late. It was nothing Deuce was worried about, so he’d picked a good spot at the bar to wait and pulled out his journal.

If he was going to be there for a while, then he was going to utilize his free time by getting some writing done. It was nice for a while. No one bothered him unless it was the barmaid asking if he was ready for a beer or just wanted a fillup on his lemonade (he opted to wait for a beer until Thatch and Ace had arrived — though to be fair, those two were probably the worst people to be drinking in public with).

Deuce ended up sitting in silence, nose buried in his journal and pen moving swiftly to capture each thought as it passed through his brain, not really realizing what he was writing and not noticing the curious eyes that had made a home on the back of his head. Not until a presence appeared at his right and a figure sat down on the stool that Deuce had been saving for Ace.

The doctor lifted his head eagerly, letting a half smirk grace his lips as he readied a comment about Ace needing to buy a watch. It caught on his tongue and nearly choked him when his eyes fell on a total stranger. He was tall with dark hair and eyes, stubble along his jaw and dressed like any other pirate Deuce had come into contact with. That included the rather wicked looking saber hanging from his belt, and the jewels decorating his fingers that looked out of place next to the grimy shirt and mud caked boots he wore. Stolen, most likely.

Deuce winced and turned back to his book, hunching over the counter with a heavy frown. He supposed he couldn’t be that upset, it wasn’t like he owned the stools, but he’d been hoping the fact he left two seats unoccupied would have been enough of a calling card to other patrons that he was waiting for someone. Clearly not. Next time he’d put his jacket over it — though something told him Gem Fingers over there would’ve sat down either way.

Deuce reached out to his lemonade, frowning into the glass as the man conversed with the barmaid for a few moments. When she stepped away to grab what he’d ordered, he did something unexpected by turning to Deuce with a smile.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in here before,” he greeted, and Deuce cast him a surprised look before setting his drink down.

“I’m just stopping by,” he commented. “Just for the night.”

“Lucky me for coming in tonight, then.” The man grinned wider, revealing an ostentatious gold tooth on the left side of his mouth.

Deuce could only squint against the way the light in the bar glinted off that tooth, uncertain why he felt so uncomfortable. Maybe because the man smelled so heavily of rotting fish and rum. Maybe because he was just annoyed at the fact he’d taken Ace’s seat. Deuce let his eyes wander the interior of the bar, searching for an open table he could move over to once his companions had arrived.

The man kept talking. “Are you a sailor? Pirate? I can’t quite tell.” He tapped the corner of his eye, leaning closer to Deuce and staring at his face. “What’s with the mask? You hiding something?”

Deuce responded to the sudden proximity by leaning back to keep distance between them. “It’s just an outfit,” he defended, reaching a hand up to touch the mask, unconsciously ensuring it was securely in place.

“Looks pretty cool. Kind of suits your face. So are you a sailor?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh that’s cool! I never would’ve guessed that!” The man was growing increasingly excited, close enough that Deuce could see the drunken haze across his eyes. “You any good?”

“I mean, no one’s ever died on my watch,” Deuce murmured, eyes shifting away again, this time embarrassed.

“You must be great, then! Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

Deuce lifted a hand. “I don’t drink alone.”

“You’re not alone, I’m right here!” The barmaid took that convenient moment to walk up again, setting two tankards down in front of the man before hurrying away to help someone else. “I’m a pirate, myself.” The man spoke as he pulled the drinks closer, holding one close in his right hand and leaning forward in such a way that Deuce could no longer see the drinks. “Captain of the Double-Cross Pirates.”

Deuce nodded slowly. “Not the most positive of names,” he said. “Can’t imagine you have many friends or allies.”

The man’s smile wavered and something cold entered his eyes, before he wiped it away and beamed with a laugh. “That’s funny!” He leaned back with a flourish, shoving one of the tankards in front of Deuce before picking up the other. “Let’s have a toast, doc!”

“I’m pretty sure I mentioned I didn’t drink alone,” Deuce said as he pushed the tankard back towards the pirate. “Thank you, though. In any case, I’m actually waiting for my friends —”

“What luck, I am too! Not your friends, I’m waiting for my crew. We have common goals!” He pushed the tankard back to Deuce, directly into his hand. “Come on. Keep me company, would you? Just one drink?”

Deuce sighed, shoulders sagging. If it would get this guy off his back — so long as he sipped at the beer rather than chugging it, he’d probably be able to put off drunkenness until Ace or Thatch showed up. Then he could ditch this pushy pirate and actually enjoy himself. They wouldn’t be much longer, no doubt. Deuce could play polite until then.

He tried for a smile, lifting the tankard with a curt nod. “Till my friends get here,” he said, and the man whooped in success, clanging his cup against Deuce’s in a toast before throwing his head back to drink.

Deuce rolled his eyes with a frown and brought the cup to his lips. It was saltier than beer he was used to. He figured he could use that as an excuse to give the drink back and say it just wasn’t to his taste, but the man reached out and tipped the bottom of the cup upwards with a finger. Deuce choked as a mouthful of the alcohol poured into his mouth and throat.

The man guffawed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed, slamming a hand on the bar as Deuce set down the tankard and choked down the rest of his mouthful.

“You drink like a wuss!” The man cackled.

Deuce quickly wiped his sleeve over his mouth, cheeks burning and eyes frantically moving from side to side to see if anyone had seen him hacking on the beer like an idiot. What a humiliating start to the evening. This asshole was not a fun drinking partner, and the beer he liked was too salty. It tasted wrong, as if it had been brewed with rotted wheat. Deuce coughed a few more times before shooting the man a glare.

“That wasn’t a cool thing to do.”

“Aw come on, doc, it was a joke!”

“Not a very fun one.”

“Hey, come on, I’m sorry.” The man leaned over Deuce to pick up his tankard and place it back in front of him. “I’ll be nice, I promise.”

Deuce didn’t let up on his glare as he cautiously picked the drink back up, folding one arm against the bar as he sipped at the beer. It really was rancid. Politely finishing it was seeming less and less likely the more Deuce tried to stomach it. On that note, his stomach was feeling strange. His entire body was feeling strange, but he couldn’t remember if that was how he got when he drank anyway, or if something was really wrong with his beer. Did this bar sell rotten beer? Did beer even get rotten? Was that a thing that happened?

“So you wanna hear something insane?” The pirate whispered, leaning close, and Deuce hummed as he stared into his cup. “You may already know, but this island is in Whitebeard’s territory. He’s one of the four emperors of the New World, considered the strongest man in the world, and the closest to One Piece.”

Deuce felt some extreme sensation of amusement bubble in his chest, and he giggled. “Yeah. I know.”

“He’s _here_ today. His flag ship is docked right now! Isn’t that insane?”

“Super insane,” Deuce agreed, eyes shutting and body swaying on the stool.

“I was really hoping I’d run into one of them.”

“Why? You wanna join?” Deuce lifted the tankard to take another drink, completely forgetting how gross it tasted until it was already in his mouth. He silently reminded himself to ask Whitebeard not to let this guy join, even as an ally. There was something more fishy about him than his smell.

“No, no, no, I can’t join his group. Not if _I’m_ going to be the Pirate King one day.”

Deuce started to laugh into the tankard, choking on the beer because he couldn’t seem to recall that laughing with a drink in your mouth would make any _normal_ person choke.

The man had that same look on his face again — the suddenly cold eyes and the frown. “You don’t believe me?”

Deuce couldn’t stop laughing and wheezing enough to answer, beer coming out of his nose as he hacked. When he’d managed to get a hold of himself, his head was swimming, and his vision was roiling like storm waves. He pinched his eyes shut with a grunt, but the room was still tilting unnaturally when he peeled them back open.

“You feelin alright there, doc?”

“I’m… a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol,” Deuce admitted. He then furrowed his brow in confusion, because why the hell would he admit that to a complete stranger?

His eyes somehow managed to focus on his journal, which was still open with his pen tucked in the center. There were drops of alcohol and spit staining the pages, and Deuce made a disgusted face as he tried to wipe them away. A few letters smeared, and he groaned in frustration.

“Ruined all my work… never gonna be able to read this.”

“Oh hey, are you a writer too?” The man swiped the book from Deuce, who pressed his palms into the cold counter and stared down with wide eyes wondering where it had gone. Then he lifted his head to see the strange pirate was holding it and flipping through it, head cocked to the side.

“Don’t read that!” Deuce shrilled, reaching out to grab it back.

The other man caught his wrist in a firm grip, eyes not leaving the page as he read over it. “You’re pretty good. I bet you’d make a good log keeper. So you’re a doctor and a scribe, huh?” He smirked. “You’d make a pretty addition to my crew.”

“Huh?” Deuce stared at the man with wide eyes, mouth agape.

He turned the page, frowning. “You really like this Ace guy. His name’s on every single page. It’s like the whole book’s a love letter.” Deuce flushed crimson and he stuttered as the pirate grinned with something akin to malice. “That’s what it is, huh? You’re sweet on this bloke, but can’t tell him, so you wax poetic in a book instead.” He clicked his tongue. “Now that is adorable.”

“Sh-sh-shut-shut up!” Deuce squeaked, yanking at his arm with all his strength but inexplicably incapable of so much as loosening the man’s grip. “Let go!”

“Hey calm down, doc, I’m just teasing you.” The pirate leaned closer, tapping Deuce’s nose with the spine of the journal. “I’m really surprised, actually. This guy hasn’t already swam oceans to make you his? If that’s the case then he doesn’t deserve you.” He placed the journal beneath Deuce’s chin, using it to lift his face up. “How about you join my crew, huh? I would treat you _very_ well. We all would.”

Deuce could only stare in alarm, suddenly aware that his entire body felt incredibly weak. His arms weren’t working, and neither were his legs. His breath felt like it was fighting against him with every inhale, and seemed to hurt as it filled his lungs. Everything felt wrong, and he was starting to realize that maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to share this man’s drink.

“Wh… what did you put in my drink?” Deuce asked in a shaky voice.

The pirate didn’t answer, but his smile was enough of a confession. Drugged with something; but _why?_ Did this guy know Deuce was part of Whitebeard’s medical team? Was he trying to get rid of him, or use him to get onto the _Moby Dick?_ Was he trying to get to Whitebeard?

“What do you want from me?” Deuce demanded, but he sounded — and felt — far too frightened for his words to have any actual impact on the bastard who was suddenly way too close.

“I just said, didn’t I? Join my crew. We’ll have a fun time, you and me. I saw you sitting alone at the bar; noticed you immediately. You stand out, you know? With that pretty hair and that silly little mask.” He reached up to tap the side of Deuce’s face, against the mask.

Deuce’s breath hitched and caught in his throat, strangling him.

“So you find new crew members by drugging them and abducting them?” Deuce croaked, and the grin on the other pirate’s face widened.

“Only if they’re cute. You…” he took Deuce’s chin in a rough hand, “are pretty like an exotic pet.”

Deuce tried to swallow around the knot of anxiety in his throat but couldn’t seem to manage it. He couldn’t even remember how to breathe, one hand caught in the strange man’s grip and the other pawing blindly across the counter for something, anything. His fingers hit a cylinder of some kind, following it to a point, and his eyes widened when he realized it was his pen. Deuce wasn’t certain how much strength he had, or what he’d been drugged with, but if he could just make some kind of commotion then he might be able to crawl away.

He wrapped his shaking fingers around the pen and tilted back just enough to give him room, jamming the writing utensil up and into the man’s eye. He screamed as blood spurted across his cheek and onto the bar. The journal dropped to the floor much like Deuce, who couldn’t keep his balance on the stool once the pirate had let go of him. He keeled over and crashed to the ground hard, sputtering as the taste of iron washed into his mouth and the stool toppled over his legs.

That wouldn’t have been an issue any other day, but drugged the way he was, the stool was suddenly an incredible obstacle. Deuce whimpered in his haste to kick it away. Meanwhile Mister Golden Tooth had jumped to his feet, hands on his eye, the pen still stuck in place, and was screaming so loud that Deuce’s head was pounding.

“You fucking bitch!” He strode forward quickly — at least it seemed quick when compared to Deuce’s pathetic attempt at pulling himself away. “Did you just stab me in the fucking eye?! Do you know who I am?!”

He dropped down over Deuce, blood stained hands coming to his throat. Deuce was so scared and so out of touch that he couldn’t be certain if the other patrons were watching like it was a street performance, or screaming bloody murder while running from the bar. He felt pretty bummed out at the fact no one had stepped in to help. Though no one knew what had happened exactly.

They’d seen Deuce stab a man in the eye, seemingly unprompted. They probably figured it was just a casual bar fight and that Deuce had started it.

He gave a sob, scratching at the man’s hands as they tightened around his throat.

“I’m thinking you’re more trouble than you’re worth! You’re just a waste of beer!”

Deuce dug his nails into the back of the lunatic’s hands, gasping for air as those same hands compressed around his throat, pressing painfully into his windpipe.

 _If the right amount of pressure is applied, it can take up to fourteen seconds to lose consciousness when being strangled, and five minutes until death,_ the words spun in Deuce’s mind like a carousel, but all he could get out vocally was a whimper as the man leaned closer to him, whispering words meant only for his ears.

“It’s really too bad that Ace person from your logbook isn’t here to save you, ey?”

Deuce choked again, eyes rolling as his grip on the pirate’s hands went slack. He could see his life flashing, and he could see Ace’s smile glowing through whatever haze of pre-death that Deuce was experiencing. He wished he could see it again, that smile he’d dedicated his life to. He wished he was stronger. He wished he hadn’t gone out to drink that night. He wished the cold hands on his throat would just leave him alone.

Unexpectedly, just as Deuce was close to blacking out, the pressure on his trachea disappeared. He heard the sound of something breaking and splintering, and the man above him lifted away with a yelp of pain. Deuce wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating, but he could’ve sworn he saw Thatch physically lift the man and overhand him into a table with one arm, the other hand clutching a broken stool leg.

That would explain a few things.

Deuce pressed his shaking palms into his throat as he choked and coughed, rolling onto his side and hacking up blood that had coagulated at the back of his throat. He must’ve bitten his tongue or split his lip badly, but he was too dizzy and drugged to center where the pain was coming from.

**_“Deuce!”_ **

His name was spoken in _that_ voice, and all of the stress and strain in his body seemed to melt out. Deuce let himself slump against the floor, not fighting as the familiar presence dropped down beside him, collecting him into their arms and against a warm chest. Somehow he managed to open his eyes, recognizing the constellation of freckles painted across Ace’s face, and the piercing silver eyes that were burning in shock and fear.

“Ace…”

“It’s me, I got you,” Ace soothed, one hand moving to cup Deuce’s face.

“Can’t… feel my legs or arms,” Deuce mumbled. “Dunno what he gave me.”

The fear turned to rage, and Deuce trembled a little in Ace’s arms. “Gave you?”

“Drugged,” Thatch said, standing at the bar and holding the tankard Deuce had been drinking from. “Smells pretty strong, too.”

Ace gaped at Deuce. “You didn’t realize it was drugged? You’re a doctor, how did you not realize — ?!” He slammed his mouth shut when Deuce let out a sob that made his entire body shake. Ace cradled him closer, hushing him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice, I’m not angry at you.”

Deuce buried his face against the side of Ace’s neck, trembling and sniffing and trying to hold back the whimpers. He failed miserably, already crying, tears cutting down his pale face. He wanted to latch onto Ace, wrap his arms around his captain, but his body wouldn’t respond to any of his commands. It was like his conscience had been stuffed inside an inanimate puppet. He could do nothing but lie weightless in Ace’s arms and cry against him.

Ace continued to soothe him with a hand stroking through his hair, more to calm himself down it seemed — Deuce could feel his partner shaking almost as much as he was. When Ace spoke next, his voice was low and dangerous, and Deuce shivered.

“Who did it?”

Thatch set the tankard down and pointed over to where Deuce’s would-be murderer was shoving aside broken pieces of the table he’d landed on, scrambling to his feet and freezing when his eyes found Thatch and Ace. They swept between them frantically, the color draining from his cheeks.

“I-I recognize you two,” he said warily, lifting his hands with a placating smile. “You guys are… you’re Division Commanders on the old man’s ship.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Thatch had his arms folded, standing stiffly at Ace’s side. “Thatch, Fourth Division Commander.” He waved a hand at Ace. “Portgas D Ace, Second Division Commander and former Captain of the Spade Pirates. Oh, and the man you just tried to strangle. That would be Masked Deuce, one of the top surgeons on Whitebeard’s elite medical team; and the former Vice Captain of the Spade Pirates.”

The man looked frightened beyond belief now. “He’s part of the Emperor’s crew?” he squeaked, and Thatch folded his arms again.

“Sure is. Pretty embarrassing for you, mister… what’s your name? Oh, and your crew’s name. You’re clearly a pirate, and I’m looking forward to informing Pops about this.”

“No! This was just a misunderstanding!” The pirate waved his hands frantically — he looked close to tears and Deuce actually almost felt sorry for him. “I didn’t mean anything by it! We were just fooling around!”

Ace’s grip on Deuce tightened. He readjusted his hold, hooking one arm beneath Deuce’s knees and lifting him from the ground as he rose to his feet. Ace turned to Thatch, who looked surprised but didn’t hesitate to hold his arms out.

“Take him outside and wait for me there.”

“Are you sure? Hey, just don’t kill him. Let’s let Pops handle it.”

Ace turned, cracking his knuckles as fire sparked to life on his shoulders and wrists. “I won’t kill him. Just beat him till he wishes he were dead.” He took a moment to reach out to Deuce, who didn’t even flinch at the fire on Ace’s fingers — Ace would never burn him. He stroked Deuce’s cheek with a thumb. “Thatch is gonna bring you outside. I’ll be out in just a minute. Try to relax a little, you’re okay now.”

Deuce didn’t know what Ace did in the bar, but he didn’t take long. There was a lot of screaming and explosions, and the glass windows all blew out with a rage of flames, but other than that Deuce had to use his imagination to figure out how Ace was punishing the captain of the Who-Cares pirates. When Ace exited the building finally, the barmaid was following, shrilling that he needed to “pay for that mess”. Ace acted like he couldn’t hear her, holding his arms out to take Deuce from Thatch once he was close enough.

“Deal with her before I do,” Ace grumbled, and Thatch gave a hum of agreement, allowing the duo to pass by before standing in the barmaid’s path.

Deuce had his arms wrapped around himself, face buried in Ace’s neck and shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any of that.”

“None of that was your fault, Deu. Thatch and I should’ve been there on time, it’s my fault.” Ace pressed his cheek against Deuce’s feverish forehead. “Pops is gonna take care of it. We’re gonna get Marco to give you something to counter the effects of the drug, then get you in a bath. After that you’re gonna sleep, okay? You can stay in my room. I don’t want you to be alone right now…”

“I don’t think I can… bath, I mean. My body isn’t working.”

“I’ll help. I don’t mind. I owe you after all, I’ll take care of you.”

“But you don’t like baths.”

“That’s only if I submerge in water. I can just sit on the edge and help you that way. You don’t mind, do you?”

Deuce wanted to hide his face in his hands and squeak out how terrible the idea was, why on earth would he let Ace bathe him, he wasn’t a child and that was pathetic. All he could do was hug himself tighter and tremble.

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” he said miserably, and Ace tightened his grip, pulling Deuce impossibly closer.

“I won’t let them see you. I won’t let them touch you. Just stay right there where you are. You’re safe now. I promise I won’t let anyone do that to you again.”

“I should’ve been paying attention.”

“You’re allowed to relax sometimes.”

“This happened _because_ I was relaxing!”

“This happened because people are psychotic and cruel,” Ace snapped back. “This was not your fault. Alright? And I am not going to let it happen again.”

Deuce couldn’t find the strength to reply, or even to express that for now, with Ace, he felt safe. All he could do was press his face against Ace’s neck and shut his eyes, letting the melody of his pulse lull him like a lullaby.

Whatever drug that man had slipped into his drink had taken full effect by the time Ace got back to the ship. Deuce was completely helpless, unable to speak, move or even open his eyes. He had to focus just so his breathing would remain steady, otherwise he would start to hyperventilate.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember Thatch and Ace explaining the situation to Whitebeard, who stood up from his seat and snarled that he was going to sink a ship. Deuce didn’t know what happened after that.

When he woke up next he was lying in bed with a cool rag sitting on his forehead and the covers pulled up under his chin. It was warm, comfortable, but Deuce wasn’t sure where he was or how he’d gotten there. His head swam as he pushed himself up, holding his head with one hand and looking around the room. It took him a minute, but he eventually recognized where he was.

Tucked in bed in Ace’s room on the _Moby Dick_. It smelt heavily of clean laundry and sanitizer, and there was an array of medicine bottles sitting on the desk. The desk chair had been moved to the side of the bed, and Ace’s hat was hanging from the back of it, but Ace himself wasn’t in the room. Deuce only had to wonder about where he was for a moment before the door opened.

Marco was the one to enter the room, carrying a platter. “Finally awake, huh?” He stepped over to set the platter on the desk, pushing aside some of the bottles and picking up a mask — Deuce’s mask. “Here, might make you feel better.”

Deuce lifted a hand to his face, taking the mask and turning away as he fumbled to put it on. “What’s going on?”

“Not much,” Marco answered, messing around with the medicine bottles. “Oh, Ace is with Thatch right now. He’ll only be a minute.”

“My head is killing me,” Deuce grumbled, still holding his head in his hand. “How long have I been out?”

“On and off for about a week.”

“A week?” Deuce breathed, pulling his hand away and looking over at Marco. “I don’t remember being very _on_ in that week.”

“Conscious in almost every way but literally,” Marco said, stepping over to the chair and sitting down, holding a mug out for Deuce to take. “Here.”

Deuce instinctively reached out for the mug, freezing before he could touch the porcelain and wincing. He pressed his lips together, tensing at the memory of too much salt on his tongue as his mind filled with fuzz. His hand was quivering, as if some force was keeping him from taking the drink. Some psychological muck that was making it hard to remember he was somewhere safe.

“It’s tea,” Marco said, lifting the cup to his own lips and taking a drink before holding it back out for Deuce. “It’s good. Thatch made it.”

Deuce swallowed thickly, taking the cup into his shaky hands and holding it to his chest. He still hesitated, lifting the mug and lowering it several times before finally bringing it up to take a sip. It was almost too sweet, but the sharp contrast against the salty beer that landed Deuce in this position was enough to keep him calm.

“That guy drugged you with a pretty strong substance,” Marco was explaining. “Took time to get it out of your system, mostly through sweating a fever and throwing up. Your fever finally broke last night. We were getting pretty worried about you. Ace has been inconsolable. He hasn’t eaten much at all, which is proof enough he’s pretty bad off. He’ll be happy to hear you’re awake.”

Deuce coughed a little when he pulled his cup away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What happened to…” he couldn’t finish, but luckily didn’t need to.

“Pops took care of it. Well, part of it. Ace beat the guy within an inch of his life, and Pops hunted down the rest of them. Single handedly sank their ship and burned their flag. They won’t be causing anymore problems.”

Deuce was willing to bet on that, but decided to stifle his angst in his teacup, taking a mouthful of the overly sweetened drink and staring at the wrinkles in the blankets that had piled around his waist.

“Here, take this,” Marco was holding out his hand, where a small pill was waiting in his palm. “It’s just for pain. I also brought you some soup, specially made by Thatch. You haven’t eaten anything solid in a while, so take it easy alright?”

Deuce swallowed down the pill with a wince, handing back the mug once he’d finished the tea. “My body still feels weird,” he admitted, holding his hand above his lap and curling his fingers into his palm. “Like it’s not mine.”

“It’ll pass. You’ve practically been in a coma, your body needs time to recover. You took in a lot of that drug before completely rejecting it. That’s a lot to go through, not including the trauma factor.”

“Thank you, Marco,” Deuce grumbled as he laid down, pulling the blankets over his head. “I needed the reminder that this traumatized me, because I’d conveniently forgotten.”

“My bad. I’m gonna head out now, give you some time to yourself. Not much I suspect, the only reason I’m here now is because Ace was busy. He asked me to keep an eye on you until he was free.”

“Kay.”

“You’re good here?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Hang in there.”

“I know.”

So people kept telling him to do...

Deuce curled onto his side, pulling one of the pillows closer and hugging it to his chest. He pulled off the mask and threw it towards the end of the bed, hiding his face in the pillow beneath his head. His mind was as much of a mess as his body, and more than anything he was pissed off. What kind of doctor didn’t recognize when he was being drugged? On that note why did that dirtbag drug him in the first place? What was the endgame? Get Deuce to his ship, and then what? He wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer to any of those questions.

He just wanted to forget.

He was alone with his thoughts for all of five minutes before the door opened again, this time for Ace. “Hey, Marco said you were awake!” Deuce dragged the blankets from over his head and turned onto his back. “Have you eaten? Thatch made soup.”

“I’m not hungry,” Deuce said. “I drank tea.”

“Yeah, that’s good, but you know eating food will make you feel better.”

Deuce rolled his head to the side to look at Ace. “Says the idiot who’s been refusing to eat.”

“I just ate something,” Ace argued, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to brush aside loose strands of Deuce’s hair. “Thatch practically bribed me by making my favorite food. So?”

Deuce shut his eyes, but eventually sat up, leaning his back against the wall at the head of the bed. “Soup, was it?”

Ace beamed, and the warmth in his smile was the perfect cure for the chill in Deuce’s bones. The soup he managed to get down helped warm the rest of him. Ace situated himself beside his partner, leaning against the wall at the head of the bed and reaching over to the desk.

“Forgot this,” he said, turning back to Deuce with his journal — the same one he’d dropped at the bar. “Pops made me go back to apologize and help clean the place up since I turned most of the tables into kindling —” Deuce snorted and shook his head, “— _but,_ it’s a good thing, because this was in the lost and found.”

Deuce took the journal from Ace, staring at the cover and tossing it to the side. “Thanks.”

“You’re not happy?”

“From a general standpoint, I’m happy this didn’t end up in some weird person’s hands,” Deuce said, waving the journal idly before dropping it again. “I’m just tired…”

“I’m really not surprised.” Ace took the empty bowl from Deuce to set it back on the desk, then turned back to Deuce, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Come here. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just sleep.”

Deuce let himself get pulled into Ace’s embrace, lying down with him and using his shoulder as a pillow. “Hey.” He reached over to tap Ace’s arm. “Thank you for looking after me. It probably wasn’t easy.”

“You can repay me later,” Ace said, one arm secured around Deuce’s shoulders, his other hand cradling the back of his head. “Repay me now by sleeping and taking care of yourself.”

Deuce nodded against Ace’s shoulder. “This is okay, right?”

“What? Being in my room? Letting me hold you?”

Deuce tensed, hiding his blush against the side of Ace’s neck. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want you anywhere else, Deu. After what happened?” His fingers carded through Deuce’s hair, combing the tangles out manually. “Hold me as tight as you want. Let me hold you too. You don’t have to feel guilty or uncomfortable about it. Put your trust in me. Sleep.”

“I do trust you,” Deuce said. “I knew you’d show up just in time. I wasn’t scared.”

Ace chuckled. “To be fair, Thatch was the one who crushed the guy’s head in with a bar stool.”

“I’ll thank him later,” Deuce said. “In the end you were the one I was waiting for, and you came. That’s what matters to me. That’s what makes a difference.”

Ace hummed, twisting Deuce’s hair between his fingers and brushing the backs of his fingers across his cheek. “I’ll always be there. Now go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Deuce sighed, finally feeling a deep sensation of peace fall over him as he shut his eyes, cradled in Ace’s warmth. “Yeah…”


End file.
